


Fools Rush In

by WithCadence



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Twist & Shout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:59:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithCadence/pseuds/WithCadence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An added ending to the popular work "Twist & Shout"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Twist and Shout](https://archiveofourown.org/works/537876) by [gabriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriel/pseuds/gabriel), [standbyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/standbyme/pseuds/standbyme). 



Dean picked up the pen, rolled it around in his fingers. It was heavy in his hand. The dull ache in his chest, temporarily alleviated by his niece, began to slowly creep back. He ignored it. Forced his mind elsewhere. The little girl making incoherent and happy noises across the room. Her sleek hair. Her wide eyes. The corners of his lip twitched upward and the dull ache was pushed back. This is a good idea. He reassured himself, taking the piece of paper and pulling it an inch or two closer. He brought the pen to the top of the paper, pausing momentarily to close his eyes, and wrote,

_Dear Cas_

The second his pen lifted from the curl of the “s” – something changed. Dean dropped the pen, looking around, alarmed. Something was different. Nothing happened but something did. Out of nowhere came a soft ringing, growing louder and louder by the second. Dean stood up suddenly, his chair knocked over behind him. The lights all shattered but the room remained illuminated, a searing white glow. The walls rattled and the windows appeared to break but nothing actually moved. Earthquake. Dean reasoned, in a panic – ignoring how little sense that made. He spun around towards Abigail, and found her sitting, content, on the floor, seemingly unaware of the alarming change in atmosphere. The ringing was louder now; Dean could barely hear himself shout “ABIGAIL!” and how suddenly rough his voice had become. He lunged towards her as windows shattered around him, scooped her up in two arms and spun around to take off towards the basement stairs, when he realized – Abigail wasn’t in his arms. He turned, she was still on the floor, still unfazed. The light was brighter now, the foundation of the house shook violently beneath them. He went to grab her up again, and again, could not.

The ringing did not cease in its violent crescendo. Dean winced as it pierced him, squinting in the light which was now almost entirely overwhelming. He clamped his hands over his ears and hunched, looking around wildly for something, anything he could do. He screamed for Cas, for whatever reason, pressed his fingers into his scalp, screwed his eyes shut.

When he opened them, he found himself in what appeared to be a waiting room. Bland, tan walls. Rows of light green chairs with ugly print and black plastic armrests. Side tables with old magazines. A middle aged man in a cheap suit and dark jacket stood in front of him, two fingers pressed lightly to Dean’s forehead.

“I’m sorry I had to do that to you, son.” The man’s hand fell to his side, kind eyes peered at Dean. Dean breathed heavily, stared at the man. He opened his mouth but no words came out. The man nodded, spoke again. “Take a moment.”

It hit Dean suddenly and without warning. Memories bombarded him from all sides. Dean Winchester, the hunter. The 21st century. Heaven and hell. Lucifer and Michael. The apocalypse. Dad. Sammy. Lisa and Ben and Jess. Purgatory. Crowley. Demons and angels. Angels. Castiel. Dean exhaled, took a staggering step backwards, tried to ignore the sound of blood rushing in his head, pulse beating against his eardrums. Raised a hand to his face and rubbed his jaw. Too much. It was too much.

“Are you all right?” the man’s voice was soft. Gentle. Dean’s eyes snapped to him, narrowed.

“Am I-?” he scoffed, suddenly feeling lightheaded, out of breath. “Am I all right? No! No I’m not all right! What the hell was that!” He snapped, shoulders tense.

“I am sorry if it was a bit much.” The man glanced downwards, nonchalantly examining his fingernails. “But you had to understand.”

“You call that a ‘bit much’?!” Dean was yelling now. “That was…. I don’t know what that was! That was years! That was a god damn lifetime you just put me through!” It felt like babbling. His brain grasped for words and none of them seemed to come out correctly. “What could I possibly learn from that?!”

“You must understand, Dean.” The man slipped his hands into his coat pocket. “You and Castiel share a unique spiritual bond, not just forged when he raised you from hell. You had free will in that universe, Dean, and you chose Castiel.” The man paused, raising his eyes at Dean, prepared for a retort. Dean remained silent, so the man continued. “You will always choose Castiel, Dean. You are linked. You cannot deny that now. You have seen what happens when you two are separated and when you attempt to sever that bond. If you value your own, or his, life, you must serve and obey him, nothing else. There is no breaking away without immense suffering.”

Dean’s mouth fell open. “And you couldn’t have, I don’t know, maybe sat me down, taken me out to dinner, to have a chat about this? That’s how you wanted me to learn that?” His voice grew louder with every word.

“I will admit, I did not expect the situation to become so… intricate. In fact, the events that occurred were not part of the… _initial_ plan. I only placed you in that world. Your choices were your own” The man shrugged. “But in the end you have learned, haven’t you?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You’re sick.” He spat, voice suddenly hoarse.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Dean.”

Dean did not respond. With one last glaring look he turned away from the angel and walked out the door, through a lobby, and into the afternoon.

It was bright, oddly warm for the middle of March. The sun on his cheeks prompted Dean to remember he and Sam arriving there not 15 minutes ago. An entire lifetime in 15 minutes. His chest suddenly felt unusually light. He grabbed the lamppost next to him, clung to it, willed his knees not to give out beneath him.

“Hey hey woah, Dean!” Dean did not look up, his eyes fixed on the pavement. Sam, suddenly next to him, reached him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You okay? You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

Sam’s hand felt odd on his arm. Dean closed his eyes. Exhaled. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. Really.” He cleared his throat. The words came to him and spilled out of his mouth without thought. He was almost surprised to hear them, surprised that he remembered. “Guy didn’t know jack shit about Metatron or the tablets. Just another crazy Cas army recruiter.” The words ‘recruiter’ and ‘army’ caught on his tongue, stumbled their way out into the air and hung there in front of Dean. _It didn’t happen._ Dean screwed his eyes closed even tighter. _None of it happened. None of it was real._

Sam brought his hand down to Dean’s bicep, tightened his grip, steadied Dean. “Are you sure you’re okay, ‘cause you look really awful.”

Dean nodded. “I’m fine, Sammy.” He opened his eyes and, finally, looked up at his brother. He regretted it almost immediately. He found Sam, before him, sunken and broken. Eyes tired and brow furrowed. Jess and Abigail replaced with Ruby and the trials. Stanford with the Bunker. A law degree with his father’s journal. Everything that could have been and never was, all the tribulation - so prominently etched into Sam’s face that Dean didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed before.

“Dean?”

Dean said nothing. He grasped Sam and pulled him in, wrapping his arms around his brother’s broad arms as tightly as he could manage. He pushed his face into his brother’s shoulder, felt Sam tentatively squeeze him back.

“Dean what happened?” Sam’s throat vibrated next to Dean’s ear. Dean did not want to let go, but hold on any more and he’d subject himself to an interrogation, which, frankly, he didn’t think he could handle at the moment. He released Sam and pushed him back gently, holding him at arm’s length and doing his best to look past the pain he now saw in Sam.

“I’ll tell you about it later.” Dean nodded, with an air of seriousness that Sam knew all too well. He clapped his little brother once on the shoulder. “But first, give me a minute.”

Dean moved away from Sam, taking a few steps forward on the sidewalk. He glanced momentarily skyward through the silhouettes of tree branches just beginning to bud with leaves again.

Beautiful, California weather.

The name felt so foreign but so natural. When he yelled it out a peculiar and familiar feeling tugged at his torso, his arms, his head, his everything. He was momentarily terrified that this, after all, was the dream, that he would wake up in an hour with swollen eyes and a pen in his hand. But every fiber of his soul told him that that was not the case. God would never be so cruel.

“CAS!” He shouted into the air. A few people turned to look. Sam looked alarmed. “Dean, what are you-?”

“Cas!” Dean could think of nothing more to do than shout his name. “Castiel!” He yelled. The name rolled off his tongue with ease, his favorite word. He did not hear Castiel appear behind him. Rather, he felt him. Dean spun on his heel.

There he stood, a foot or two in front of Sam, concern etched onto his features. Dean froze.

“What’s wrong?” His voice came gravely. “I sensed urgency in your call. Is everything okay?”

Dean’s body felt empty. Light. Weightless. A tingling began in his fingertips and spread to his torso. He could do nothing to keep his face from crumpling into a smile. He moved forward, quickly, grabbed Cas by the shoulder and yanked him in, pulling their bodies together.

Dean grasped the angel, holding him to his chest, pressed his face to his neck. He breathed Castiel in, clung to him. He pulled his head back and looked into Cas’ eyes briefly, hoping to convey something – anything - before pressing his lips forcefully against the angel’s. Cas froze, only momentarily, before leaning into the kiss, exhaling through his nose. Bending his head in the way the Dean knew he would because they had done before it a thousand times. Dean cupped the sides of Cas’ face with his hands. He felt Cas’ fingers press into his waist. The rise and fall of his chest, the small rough patches on his chin, the way their bodies fit together. It was familiar and comforting. It made sense. It was home.

Dean pulled his lips away but left his forehead on Castiel’s, left their noses pressed together. He gripped the back of the angel’s head, dark tufts of hair between his fingers. Finally, he could kiss him in public. Finally they didn’t have to worry. Well… no. That Cas had to worry. That Cas never got to stop worrying. But this Cas. This Cas was not him. This Cas was alive. This Cas was alive and loved, and Dean vowed then and there, silently, to never leave him. To never make the same mistakes that his other self did.

Finally, Dean pulled away, but did not let go, holding Cas at arm’s length.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean did not realize that he was crying until he subconsciously brought a hand to his face, and wiped away a hot tear.

“That was…” Cas looked around, first at the pavement, then back at Dean. He cleared his throat. “Unexpected.”

Dean froze. The stupidity of that sudden action began to swarm in his vision like a cloud before Cas continued, “But not unwelcome.” Cas smiled. Dean exhaled sharply, laughed.

“Am I too forward in suggesting that this warrants an explanation?” Cas tilted his head and everything became okay. Dean nodded.

“Yeah, sure thing, Cas. Just not right now.” He wanted to live in this moment for a small while longer. Cas nodded as well, a silent “okay.”

Sam cleared his throat and Dean was suddenly reminded of his presence there on the sidewalk, next to the Impala. _Shit._ He looked up to find Sam, eyebrows raised halfway up his forehead, mouth hanging slightly open in comic disbelief, smiling almost as much as Dean - like he had just discovered the world’s funniest joke and nobody around him heard.

"Hey.” Dean’s face snapped back to faux anger. He pointed at Sam. “Shut up.”

Sam snorted. “Dean – _what?_ ”

“I told you, Sammy, I’ll explain later.” Sam was on the verge of hysterical laughter. In any other circumstance, Dean would have been angry. Instead, he fought to not laugh as well.

“How - are you going to –“ Sam, still fighting laughter, “-explain _that_?” Cas too looked towards Dean for the answer.

“Believe me.” Dean sighed. “I’ve got a long story.”

“Okay.” Sam smiled, putting his hands up in mock defeat. “Later?” Dean nodded.

“Later.” Without a word, he moved towards the Impala, beckoning with a slight twitch of his head that Cas should follow, which he did, silently. Offering no explanation, Dean climbed into the back seat. Sam, albeit looking confused, climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car. Castiel walked around, sliding into the back beside Dean. He did not protest when Dean slid his hand across the seat and placed it on his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. In fact, Cas placed his own hand gently on top of it, unquestioning. He could feel, within Dean, the depths of regret and longing that had not been there a day ago. But most of all, he could feel the intensity of their connection, pulsating under Dean’s skin. He understood.

Dean rested his head against the back window. He watched the shops flick by, then the suburban houses, all neatly painted with groomed lawns. He felt the coolness of the window seep into his skull and closed his eyes. He felt Cas’ familiar palm on top of his own, felt the very presence of the angel next to him, the forevers that existed between them. For the first time in his life, Dean felt entirely content, a foreign feeling that washed over his body, assuring him that nothing in the world could happen to make this moment any more perfect, And then God did him one better. The smooth strum of a guitar, a velvety voice. Elvis seeped through the radio, filled the car.

_Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go._

_You have made my life complete, and I love you so._

_Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfilled._

_For my darlin’ I love you, and I always will._

_Love me tender, love me long, take me to your heart._

_For it’s there that I belong and we’ll never part._

_Love me tender, love me dear, tell me you are mine._

_I’ll be yours through all the years, till the end of time._

Dean smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this entirely for myself and had no intention to publish it. I was dealing with some mental health issues when I read Twist & Shout, so I wrote this happier ending to help cheer me up. I'm publishing it even though I'm not too proud - I just thought maybe it might help cheer others up as well.


End file.
